A Life Unknown
by BlissMystique
Summary: As his life fades away, Edmund clings to a secret his siblings never knew. When they discover what their youngest brother has been hiding for years, will they be able to carry on? Will it give them closure, or open up new wounds? Post-LWW, AU, no slash.
1. Prologue

__Prologue

_It had been hard on all of them, coming back from the land they'd grown to love so much. That much was undeniable. It had become safety. It had become peace. It had become an escape. It had become home._

_Peter missed the freedom and power coming with his kingship. Touching his side and finding the rough fabric of his trousers replacing the cold hilt of a sword made his heart sink. Anger, resentment, bitter fury all rose up inside him with every command adults gave him. How dare they? Didn't they know who he was? Without his crown, though, how could they? Did he even know who he was now? _

_Susan longed for the gentle rolling hills, soft sand that caressed the beach, and glorious sunrise that met her every morning. Her thoughts drifted away from the glum English day to the grand ballroom of Cair Paravel. Was there ever a month that went by without it being filled with the clamor and excitement of a ball? The admiring gazes of their subjects – no, their friends – haunted her; she had been so beautiful. Now, she was back in a teenager's body, dreaming of the day she would look like Queen Susan the Gentle once more. _

_Lucy yearned for the dear friends she'd left behind. What was Mr. Tumnus doing without her right now? It was their tea time, the time she had never missed once since her coronation. She missed being able to walk outside and instantly find a friend in a squirrel, a rabbit, or any passing animal. Now who could she talk to? Not Peter, who was angry all the time. Not Susan, who barely stayed home anymore. Not Edmund…_

_Edmund…No one was sure what he missed. He loved Narnia, undeniably, but what was he holding onto from that land? Was he clinging to the good memories, the ones where he defeated enemies, delegated peace with foreign lands, and spent hours horseback riding through the fields? Or was the clinging to the bad memories, the ones where the White Witch permeated the air of every breath he took before his coronation? _

_The first month, no one thought much of anything else. They were all hurt, confused, wondering why Aslan had sent them back to the world they didn't belong in. But, over time, they began to adjust. They lost their royal speech, forgot about the wonderful food they used to have every night, and stopped touching their heads in search of a crown and their belt searching for a sword. Life seemed to go on for the Pevensies…at least, for three of them._

_**[Author's Note: **Hey everyone! Okay, so I've posted a few chapters of this story before but I kinda left it hanging, so now I'm revamping it. Reviews are great; please leave some!**]**  
_


	2. Discovery

_The doctors couldn't explain it._

_There was no reason Edmund Pevensie should be lying on his death bed. Here was a perfectly healthy fourteen year old boy, scrawny and pale but still fit and strong, wasting away right before their eyes, threatening not to make it to fifteen. It was an absolute mystery; they watched his heartbeat slowly weaken to a flutter, they listened to his breathing grow ragged, but they found no reason for any of it.__Day by day doctors came, and day by day doctors left, shrugging their shoulders and peering at the boy curiously._

_Finally, after a month of endless questions and impossible answers, a quavering voice barely formed the question, but the answer was loud and clear._

_"Honestly, it seems to be the path he's taking," the doctor murmured gravely to Lucy. "I don't know why, but this boy is dying."_

_Despite their fancy white coats and scary-looking equipment, Lucy realized that doctors weren't miracle workers when, a week later, Edmund Pevensie was laid to rest. None of their medicine, none of their tests, and none of their efforts could change the fact that King Edmund the Just, Duke of Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March, Knight of the Noble Order of the Lantern, who had been so strong, bright, and full of life in Narnia, could not survive in England._

Peter Pevensie, the High King of Narnia, had never been so afraid in his life.

Battling against the White Witch, leading an army… it all seemed like floating through a dream compared to this. What he wouldn't give to be back there now and go through it all again, just to know his little brother was still at his side. _No_, he thought, _Aslan sent us back here. He threw us away and left Ed to –_he couldn't bear to even think the word. Weeks had passed, but he still couldn't accept it. No matter how much time passed, the wounds would never heal; Peter knew that better than anyone. Guilt followed him wherever he went, invaded every waking thought, haunted every slumber. He had never been a big brother to Edmund, or at least, not as long as he'd wanted to be, and especially not in this world. So much time that he'd wasted yelling at him... Was it his fault that Edmund had given up on life? Peter could only guess now.

Once upon a time, this home had been a safe haven. It had been a shelter from the world. There had been laughter, exploration, and games on rainy days. It had almost been a home away from home. Now, looking up at the large stone mansion, his knees almost buckled as the anguish hit. It was a deathbed, a morgue, a haunted place to him now. Edmund's last breath had been drawn in there. That fact made the realization of what he was here for all too real. Blinking the tears back from his crystal eyes, he forced foot after foot to head through the winding pathway of Professor Kirke's country home. He knew it had to be done.

"Here you are," the professor said softly, laying a small oak box in Peter's lap and interrupting the dark thoughts that loomed like a storm cloud, waiting to let the rain fall in a torrent. Fighting the lump rising up in his throat, he glanced up and whispered his thanks before gazing down at what was left of Edmund Pevensie. He gingerly lifted the lid and breathed in the smell of the boy. It almost felt like a crime to touch them, but he couldn't help having to run his hand over the shirts he'd seen Ed wear so many times or cradling the comb that still had strands of black stuck in it. Gripping the comb tightly, he could feel his hand trembling as the bristles cut into his skin, making up for the pain inside him.

One item, though, was strikingly unfamiliar to him and stopped his eyes in their tracks. It was a journal, bound in leather, with no lock to keep him on the other side of its cover. Why had he never seen this? Opening the book slowly, he saw the first dated entry and gasped - it was dated April second, 1945. "The day we returned," Peter whispered in awe. With that he knew. This book, written by Edmund himself, held all the secrets that ended his life.

**[A/N: Well, this chapter is pretty short. I'm really sorry about that! I hope I left you with a good enough cliffhanger to make you want to keep reading, though! Let me know what you think; I appreciate your reviews so much!]**


	3. Opening

"No, Peter, we can't," Susan Pevensie insisted, laying a firm hand upon the coarse binding. Meeting her brother's eyes with a glare, she proceeded to pry his fingers off the book. "It's not our place."

"Not our place?" Peter replied incredulously, his voice rising with every word. "Susan, this could explain it all! Don't you want to know why…" he faltered in his words, still unable to say those dreaded, final words, _why he died._"Don't you want closure?" He settled for in a whisper.

Susan sighed, looking away. _Be a big girl,_she reminded herself as she blinked back her tears. "If he wanted us to see this, he would have shown it to us. It's not our place." Her voice cracked on the last word and the sixteen year old turned on her heel, slamming the door behind her as she left her brother alone in the room he'd once shared with the bright-eyed, dark haired boy. His crystal eyes could barely stand to glance over to the empty bed across the room, but where else could his searching eyes land? Running his hand over the book, slipping his finger under its cover, the boy-king was torn with indecision. To read or not to read? _Was_ it his place? With a huff he tossed it onto his pillow and followed his sister's footsteps.

God, this is unbearable. _The words ran through his mind again and again, unable to form any other thought. Everything was pushed to the back of his mind except for this; maybe if he just concentrated on the words, someone would realize how unbearable it was for him to be there and get him out. He wanted to forget everything about this day. He wanted to forget about the body lying in the coffin before him. He wanted to forget about the haunting last smile on his dead brother's face. He wanted to forget about the real smiles he wanted to see, the ones accompanied by a beating heart and steady flow of air through his lungs._

_But he wouldn't. He'd never forget the sound of Edmund's laughter, the most magical sound he'd ever heard. Maybe he cherished it for its rarity, or maybe for its unique, unfeigned melody. Maybe he loved how infectious it was, or how calming it was. He'd never forget the wise tone in Edmund's voice as he transformed into King Edmund the Just, brave and chivalrous. He'd never forget the carefree face of his brother, flushed with excitement as they raced their horses down the beach of Narnia, throwing his head back into the sunlight to give a victory yell as he flew past Peter. Opening his eyes, Peter's memories were shattered by the pale, lifeless form of Edmund before him. No, this wasn't Edmund. This was some stranger pretending to be Edmund. It just couldn't be his brother._

_All around him people were standing, some with somber expressions, some with tears in their eyes, and Peter realized through the haze that maybe he should stand too. Glancing into the faces surrounding him, pressing into him, staring at him openly or peering at him tentatively, anger bubbled in his chest; their tears could never amount to the pain in him. Their condolences and whispered appreciated of Edmund Pevensie would never be enough to soothe him. As mourner after mourner came to shake his hand, the blind fury mounted. What was a handshake supposed to do for him? Make it all better? Nothing could make this better; nothing would ever make this better. He knew if he heard one more whispered apology, he would lose it._

With a start, Peter awoke. Sweat drenched his brow, pouring from his cornsilk hair and trailing down his spine. Every nerve in his body tingled, begging the dream to be over; as his eyes adjusted to the dark around him, he realized all over again that this dream would never be over. Or would it? He knew he could never treat the wound, but would a little balm help? As this thought formed, his eyes found the journal once more. He couldn't spend the rest of his life wondering; why should he? If Edmund didn't want anyone to know, he wouldn't have written it down, Peter assured himself. Turning on the bedside lamp, his quivering hands lifted the book from the floor and set it in his lap. Reminding himself repeatedly of his argument against Susan's feelings, he took a deep breath before pulling back the cover of the mystery he had to solve.

_April 2, 1945_

_This is the beginning of my end. I can feel it in my heart, in my bones, in the very hair on my body. This air that I breathe, these hands that I see, they are all wrong. I can only hope that this will be righted one day soon, for living a life in this world now is like living without a heart; impossible._

_But I cannot focus on that now. I must escape this torturous hell and find again the peace of before. That peace is so far away that it seems unreachable, but close enough to find with every blink of my eyes. There she is, with her soft rolling hills and gentle waves of a perfect blue. There she is, with her castle's turrets piercing the endless, clear skies. There she is, home at last._

_There is more than that, though, things I could never tell to a soul knowing of this world. Peter, Susan, Lucy…I don't know that they'd forgive me for the terrible crime I'd committed. Even said, I do not and never could regret what I'd done, and with it being the greatest crime ever committed, a crime of the heart and soul, a crime of the loving and passionate, I cannot let it go unnoticed and unknown. The thought of our story disappearing into thin air, with no one to ever know it but three souls who will never be reunited, is excruciating. This book will keep alive the secrets of my heart when my mind cannot. This book will tell the grandest story ever written, ever lived through and experienced, and the saddest ending ever known; the old Greek poets have nothing compared to this tragedy._

_Now, you see, this is a love story…_

His head reeled as he jumped up, sprinting for the bathroom. Everything was spinning and he needed a grip on something, anything to keep his world in place. Throwing open the bathroom door, he fell to his knees, barely managing to hit the sink as the vomit spewed forth. This was all too real, too vivid, too…too much like Edmund. He couldn't just shrug this off, pretending the words weren't his brothers, pretending none of it had ever happened. The handwriting was too familiar, the words too regal to be anyone _but_ Edmund's.

It took him the most part of half an hour to calm himself, keeping his hand clamped over his mouth in case any sobs or screams straggled behind and praying that he remained undiscovered. He didn't know if he could handle explaining this to anyone just yet, since he was barely handling experiencing it himself. _Maybe Susan was right,_the fleeting thought came, but he angrily dismissed it instantly. _No_, _I need this. He wanted someone to know._

His heart felt mangled, ripped, and thrown piece by piece into a rubbish bin. How could he have made his brother feel like that? How could he force him to keep such a secret inside, a secret that possibly killed him? Maybe if Peter had known, maybe if he'd been a brother Edmund could confide in, maybe he'd still be here. Peter would always forgive him; how couldn't Edmund know that? Nothing would mark Edmund was unforgivable! Not even escaping to the White Witch and betraying them would break Peter's love for his brother. Biting back another yell of despair, Peter laid his head against the cool tile floor. It was more than enough for one night.

**[A/N: Okay, so now the story is really starting. Let me just warn you, be prepared for some twists and turns! Thanks so much for the reviews so far and please review this chapter and let me know what you think about where this is all going or about the story in general!]**


End file.
